


is my stereo on

by idolaters



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, bro we are teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolaters/pseuds/idolaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They watch <i>Friends</i> and Marco imagines being put on trial for war crimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is my stereo on

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in lieu of rachel/tobias because bird het is still too painful to deal with. warnings for canon-typical depictions of ptsd and body horror

Marco lies awake staring at the ceiling while the same two lines of an 80's pop song run through his head: _I come home in the middle of the light/My mother says when you gonna live your life right._ Two hours ago he had dragged himself away from Full House reruns, explaining to Ax that he had school the next morning. _I'm just gonna crash on your couch,_ he said, and Ax had barely looked up from the computer, immersed in what looked like a rousing game of Minesweeper.

Since then he had been drifting in and out of shallow sleep, punctuated with violent nightmares-- Marco's favorite kind! You shouldn't have, subconscious. No, really. _You shouldn't have_. Marco wants to scoop his brains out with a watermelon baller and leave them on the floor. And Cyndi Lauper again: _Oh mother dear, we're not the fortunate ones._

After fifteen more minutes of this he cuts his losses, rolls off the couch, and stumbles into what he guesses is Ax's equivalent of the kitchen, if humans could survive off nothing but Froot Loops and brownie mix.

"Good morning," Ax says. He's pouring chocolate milk into a bowl full of Lucky Charms and hey, and least he's using a _bowl_ this time: Marco has walked in on him siphoning milk straight into a Nesquik container and then settling down to eat the entire thing with a spoon. The guy has no shame. It's only 4am, a little too early for good mornings and cereal, in Marco's humble opinion. He spent the last few hours waking intermittently from dreams he'd really prefer not to remember. His REM cycle is probably shredded. Ax starts shoveling marshmallow primordial soup into his mouth while staring expectantly at Marco.

"What?" Marco snaps, then feels kind of bad. It's not Ax's fault he couldn't sleep. Can't sleep. Present tense. Won't be able to sleep, future tense.

"You must complete the ritual," Ax says, mouth full of sugary sludge.

 _Jesus._ "Good morning to you too." Marco pulls a chair out and slumps into it. "That's not a ritual, by the way, it's just polite. And you need to _blink_ once in a while, man." Ax blinks obligingly, long and slow, like a robot. "No, stop. That's terrible."

Ax 's face gets crinkly and suspicious, finally catching on to the fact that he's being made fun of. It gives Marco a weird feeling, like he's looking into a funhouse mirror. Ax might have his eyes, or something close to his eyes, but Marco knows for a fact his own baby browns have never looked so wide or clear. (Maybe when he was a baby. Odds are Marco was a pretty self-aware baby, though.)

"I made coffee," Ax says. "Caw-fee." He waves a hand vaguely, like _it's over there somewhere_. Ax morphs human for meals and snacks and sometimes just to watch TV or play video games. He could use his Andalite hands for the computer, Marco guesses, but the rest of his body might get in the way. Stuff isn't _that_ ergonomic.

These days Ax's human morph doesn't phase Marco much, besides his stolen wrists and mouth, which sometimes bleed uncomfortably into Marco's awareness when Ax is eating or typing. It's fine; they're Cassie's wrists, Rachel's cheekbones. Most days it's just weird instead of distracting.

Marco pours himself a healthy cup of coffee in a novelty plastic cup stolen from Jake's house. He doesn't have to go to school for a while. He doesn't have to go to school _at all_ , technically speaking.

"What's on the agenda for today," he asks, sipping the coffee. It's burnt and disgusting but Marco can't find the strength to care, not even a little. Ax swirls his cereal around thoughtfully. His mouth is open like he forgot to close it and his teeth are wet and white. There's a gap between his two front teeth, which none of them have-- it must be a side effect of cramming approximately 128 teeth into a blender and pressing liquefy.

"I would like to 'veg'," Ax says, with audible quotation marks, and that's just fine by Marco.

 

They watch _Friends_ and Marco imagines being put on trial for war crimes. His entire perception of this process is informed by _A Few Good Men_ and _Night Court,_ but Marco thinks he's got a pretty good grasp on things. When the dust settles and the intergalactic armada arrives and the world is afforded even a little time and distance, there'll definitely be repercussions. He did-- will do-- some terrible things. They've all got blood on their hands _(/paws/hooves/mouths)_ but Marco feels the least about it, which means he is the guiltiest party. It's always been laid out very clearly in his mind: This is the path of least resistance. This is what they have to do. They push past the cognitive dissonance, the fact that the bodies propelled towards them with blades and teeth are innocent. And then the Animorphs do what they always do, and in exchange for it Earth gets to survive another week. And then they all get nightmares.

The defense pleads guilty, and the Cyndi Lauper song is back. Marco rubs his eyes. Ross is teaching Phoebe to ride a bike. Would Ax ever want to learn to ride a bike? He'd love ringing the bell, Marco decides, but balancing was difficult enough for the poor guy on two legs at first, much less two wheels.

"Everyone in the general vicinity always laughs at their jokes," Ax says. He still doesn't understand laugh tracks. "Vicinity. Sin uh tee."

"Yeah, if only real life was like that," Marco says, taking the bag of Funyuns from him. In the trial scenario Ax is testifying against them, vindicated by eons of Andalite culture. <Nothing personal> Ax might say, a borrowed line from an action movie. Two pairs of eyes, all equally cold. Probably a prince at that point, let's be real: nothing like slaughtering brainwashed innocents in droves to land a sweet promotion. Man, where's Marco's promotion? He's got the prerequisites. _Must have at least 3 years experiences making morally dubious decisions._

Ax is staring at him. Again.

"We talked about the blinking thing," Marco says. "Don't Andalites have twice as many eyelids? Maybe two sets, like a lizard? You should be a pro at this."

"You're shaking," Ax says, drawing out the - _king_ , but not as much as he could have. Small favors. Belatedly Marco realizes he's right: he blinks down at his trembling hands. The Funyuns are spilled at his feet.

"Didn't get much sleep," he says. "But hey, what else is new."

Ax is making a face, scrunching his eyebrows together like he just tasted something really bizarre.

"I don't sleep either," he says, carefully. Marco amends the expression to _sympathetic_. Empathetic? Marco can't even begin to imagine how confusing human facial expressions are to Ax. At least he's trying. It must be easier when you don't have a mouth.

All of a sudden the place seems stifling, every inch down to the floor, and Marco's skin crawls. He can't catch his breath. Not to be dramatic or anything, but it feels like drowning. Marco remembers what it's like to drown firsthand. And besides-- him, hyperbole? Marco has never exaggerated a day in his life. In the dream his lungs filled and Rachel's limbs bled out almost lazily, staining the water in big red shrouds.

"We should get out of here, dude," Marco says. "Stretch our legs. All six of them."

Ax looks up from where he's picking Funyuns out of the carpet.

"What did you have in mind?" he says. Not wary, just curious. Ax is just as eager to go to an arcade as he is to sit around the television as he is to eat candy out of the garbage behind the 7-11. Marco wonders when the novelty of living will wear off. Marco's been sick of it for years.

"Let's rip off an N64," Marco says.

 

Ax says "En six tee four" all the way to the nearest Wal-mart, where he morphs into a raccoon and distracts the graveyard shift cashier long enough for Marco to grab the console, two controllers, and a copy of Goldeneye.

After running like maniacs for a few minutes they slow down, sneakers hitting the pavement. Marco can't stop laughing and clutching at Ax's arm, who's smiling like it's hurting his face. The sun is barely coming up over the treetops and Marco is freezing to death in his thin hoodie but for the first time since he woke up that morning he feels-- well, something approaching human. Nothing like fresh air and petty larceny to make a guy feel like new.

"The flight or fight response is powerful," Ax says, the wires of the controllers tangled in his fingers. "It's more enjoyable when we are not fighting for our lives."

"That sweet, sweet adrenaline rush," Marco agrees, bumping Ax's shoulder with his own, companionably. As they hit the forest Ax morphs back into an Andalite and gallops around a little, like he's stretching out his old limbs after a few hours of disuse.

"Bonnie and Clyde," Marco says, making a finger gun with his free hand. "Raccoon alien and juvenile delinquent. That was fun! Also, I can never go back there!"

<Should we be on our guard for bounty hunters?> Ax says dryly, and Marco barks out a laugh.

"Yeah, Wal-mart comes down hard on shoplifters," he says, shifting the N64 in his arms. "Freaking Jabba the Hutt style. They'll freeze you in carbonite."

<I love you> Ax says, and it's a joke, he's doing _Star Wars_ , but Marco feels like he got punched in the gut.

"I know," Marco says, then exaggeratedly does Han Solo's death grimace. Ax smiles with his eyes.

One day Marco's dad out of the blue said _Marco, do you like boys_ and Marco had choked on his Cheerios and spit them all over himself and said _NO_ , mortified, and Marco's dad had thrown up his hands in appeasement and went _okay, okay._ And they never talked about it again. Because Marco likes girls. Mostly. The thing is--

The thing is that they turn into animals and fight losing battles and don't do their homework or connect with their family anymore. _(Family game night? No can do, Pops, I'm emotionally unavailable on account of all the murder.)_ And if, in-between getting their limbs ripped off and organs punctured every night, Marco happens to think his alien friend is pretty in a totally clinical way-- who cares? Not his friends. Not the Yeerks. Not Marco.

The sun is almost all the way up now, and Ax is just standing still in the grass, face turned towards the sun, eyestalks still. Marco nudges him with an elbow.

"Let's go plug this baby in," he says.

 

Eight o'clock comes and goes and Marco skips school. It's not like it's a big deal. Jake won't care that much, he'll just look at Marco with that exhausted slant to his mouth. Like he knows how Marco feels but he can't let himself slip. _Gallant_ goes to school even under extreme mental duress. _Goofus_ skips school and plays Goldeneye with an alien.

"So death is impermanent," Ax says as Marco taps past the GAME OVER screen. "Impurrr. Manent." His tongue lingers at the top of his teeth for a moment. Stolen bones-- no, Marco feels a little better. He's not going down that road again. Ax is Ax, and man,  _what is his blood type, exactly?_ Ax should be crazily convulsing and rejecting his own organs. Marco's been there before, trapped in halfway morph with an incompatible, broken spine. It's not fun. Good thing Andalite science seems to mainly run on made-up B.S.

"Yeah, death is cheap," Marco says, sprawled on the couch. Ax is sitting on the floor in front of him with his knees tucked under his chin.

"You died again," Ax observes, like he could do any better. Marco coolly hands him the controller and folds his arms behind his head.

"Your turn," he says. Ax hums contemplatively.

After watching him repeatedly run into enemy gunfire for five minutes, Marco takes pity on him.

"You're holding the controller wrong, dude."

Ax goes "Of course," and turns it upside down.

"If I didn't know better I would swear you're messing with me," Marco says. He slides down the couch and puts his arms around Ax, taking Ax's slim hands and curling them around the N64 controller. Ax doesn't immediately recoil or shout _dude, gay!_ but Marco chalks that up to cultural ignorance. It mostly sucks because up close, Ax has long eyelashes and his hair is shiny and thick--Man, how much of this is just narcissism? Marco can't tell. He can't get his brain straight. (Ha.) He blames the sleep deprivation and Ax's well-intentioned but ultimately Frankenstein-ish approach to humanity. If he could, Marco would go back in time, stumbling through a vortex-- _Don't do it! Don't borrow 50% of your genetic makeup from beautiful girls!_ Pause to wink at Rachel and Cassie.

"Now you're golden," Marco says, pulling away. 

"Golden," Ax agrees, relishing the "l" sound. Marco snorts. He might go home soon, he realizes: all he's eaten today is a couple of stale Funyuns. At home he'll turn all the lights off and fall asleep watching the news, or something equally mind-numbing. (Not nature documentaries. Not anymore.) He imagines sleeping 8 hours-- wishful thinking. He imagines sleeping a solid five. _Realistic goals, Marco,_ his teachers always said.

Ax sets the controller down and turns, and Marco abruptly realizes Ax is kneeling between his legs. He places one hand, very deliberately, on Marco's knee.

"You want to kiss me," Ax says. It's not a question. Marco's heart starts going a million miles an hour.

"Um," he says.

"Am I wrong?" Ax says. His mouth is chemical blue from earlier when he ate 10 Fun Dip packets in a row and Marco had egged him on in a mixture of disgust and awe. There's some Fun Dip smudged high on his cheekbone. He looks like he killed and ate a Smurf.

"No," Marco says, "you're not wrong."

"Good," Ax says, a little smug, and moves slowly, like he thinks Marco's a wild animal that's going to bolt. Which is nuts, because Marco is a rational human being, and Ax is an alien wearing a person suit. Ax's fingers touch the inside of his wrist. Marco thinks to the future, about being older and looking across the courtroom to an alien he made out with once on a sharp, sleep-deprived morning. About being dead in a year, and this being his last chance to kiss anyone. About never seeing his friends again.

He leans in.


End file.
